


Reformation

by blackcatcoffee



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Black Family Drama (Harry Potter), Black Family-centric (Harry Potter), Criminal Masterminds, Family Drama, Family Dynamics, Family Issues, Family Secrets, Gen, Magical Artifacts, Magical Theory (Harry Potter), Mind Control, Nuclear Weapons, Organized Crime, POV Alternating, POV Outsider, POV Third Person, Politics, Pureblood Culture (Harry Potter), Pureblood Politics (Harry Potter), Pureblood Society (Harry Potter), Smart Voldemort, The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:07:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24304897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackcatcoffee/pseuds/blackcatcoffee
Summary: (or what happens when Tom Riddle realises the potential of mind control)"You may think that the best kept secret on Earth is the concealment of the magical world from the muggle one, and you would be wrong. Millions of witches and wizards know that secret. No, the best kept secret on Earth --one that only a select few know-- is the concealment of the muggle world from the magical one." - Arcturus BlackSeven years after he left the magical world, Sirius Black's grandfather contacts him to say that his brother has gone missing. Sirius reluctantly agrees to work with his family to solve Regulus' disappearance by helping decode his brother's journals. Meanwhile, ex-werewolf-soldier Remus Lupin is hired as a personal assistant for Black Enterprises, Narcissa Malfoy tries to convince her sister Andromeda to run for the House of Commons, and Harry Potter is bewildered by the appearance of a stranger at Number Four, Privet Drive.Very AU. Divergence after Tom Riddle's graduation.(rated M for coarse language (courtesy of Bellatrix and Sirius) and brief descriptions of violence)BEING REWRITTEN
Relationships: Arcturus Black & Sirius Black, Bellatrix Black Lestrange & Narcissa Black Malfoy & Andromeda Black Tonks, Regulus Black & Harry Potter, Regulus Black & Sirius Black, Sirius Black & Remus Lupin
Comments: 90
Kudos: 118
Collections: Black family fics, The Black Family





	1. Prologue: Benjamin "Benjy" Holt

Benjamin Holt was feeling a little nervous as he waited outside the Black Study. It was extremely unusual for Mr Black to talk to him directly, given that Holt was somewhere near the bottom of the pecking order. Holt’s official job was a ‘magical transports technician’, meaning to everyone outside the Business that he fixed fireplaces and portkeys. To everyone _inside_ the Business, he was a tracker for people who disappeared, usually after not paying their loan interests or after learning too much important information to live. Using a combination of scrying spells, tracking charms, and sometimes a ritual or two, Holt was able to find these unsavory characters’ locations and mark them for other ‘consultants’.

After graduating Hogwarts, Benjy landed a clerical job in the Department of Magical Transport but found it unsatisfactory. The salary was low and he was constantly passed over for a promotion by more well-connected mages. Benjy was more an asshole than an asskisser and he knew it. After three glum years writing and stamping paperwork for eighty galleons a month, Benjy was contacted by an old classmate, Blackwood, for ‘a job he may be interested in’.

Blackwood approached him at the Ravenclaws’ Reunion party. He was a stout man and had played beater for the house team. Benjy was somewhat afraid of him, but he accepted a job offer of ‘doing floo and portkey stuff’. His decision mostly had to do with the interesting pay offered. 

Blackwood gave him a photo, a name, some toenail shavings, and an instruction to give the target’s location. Body-binding the target was helpful but not necessary, the burly man told him. Benjy did the job within a day and was given eight galleons for his effort. He suspected that Blackwood was merely testing on how well he could keep his mouth shut. After that, more difficult jobs started rolling in, where he was only given a name and a photograph. After ten cases, he left the Ministry and Blackwood gave him a license to work as a magical transports technician, which was quite funny since Benjy never once fixed a floo fireplace in the following years.

Benjy gradually understood that Blackwood too was a small cog in the big wheel of whatever business was going on. Blackwood was practical, but he wasn’t a criminal genius; someone else was running the show. And what a show it was! People to be found and neutralised every week because they were a little too nosy. Some targets tried to bribe him with gold, some offered slaves; but the most dangerous targets offered secrets. Benjy made sure to cast a quick silencio when he heard that. He didn't need Blackwood sending someone after him because he had stumbled upon a secret something or other in this vast criminal underworld. Benjy also suspected that the Business (as he called it in his brain) was not limited to the Wizarding World. Half the time he was ordered to search for individuals who were most definitely muggle. Before, he would have thought they were squibs, but certain unassailable facts (‘Why the fuck are you holding a stick? WHAT THE FUCKING FUCK WAS THAT!’) proved that they were completely mundane. 

He had asked Blackwood on whether he could use spells on these muggles, fearing that the Improper Use of Magic Office might lock him away in Azkaban. Blackwood guffawed and told him that since Benjy was of age, it was impossible to trace his magic and since no one was going to tell on him, Benjy going to Azkaban was as likely as Blackwood going to heaven. And so Benjy thought no more of it.

Eight years, five months, and two days after he began his technician work, Blackwood asked him if he was willing to take an unbreakable vow for a potential job. Benjy asked how much the job was worth. Blackwood told him that if he did this job proper, he would get three years’ worth of his usual salary. Benjy thought of the new messenger bag in Madam Malkin’s shop and vowed to never talk about the job.

He was given a spare wand (“For emergencies”), a word about who his boss’ boss is (“You call him Mr Black or sir, and don’t speak unless spoken to.”), and a floo password (“Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place”).

An hour later, he was tapping his foot anxiously against the expensive carpet of a corridor in the Black London Residence. Five minutes of waiting, and the door swung open of its own accord. Benjy stood up, entered the study, and gave a bow to Mr Black.

“Mr Holt, is it?” He said. “Have a seat.”

Benjy obeyed.

“Blackwood has told me about your talent in locating people. Explain the procedure to me.”

“Well, if the trail is fresh, the easiest way is to look for apparition residue --”

“And suppose the target’s marks are _not_ fresh?”

“A bit of non-magical detecting and a locator matrix using some of the target’s body fluids will do, sir.”

“And does this method always work? How long does it take?”

“It will take from three days to perhaps a month.”

Mr Black closed his eyes. “A month. Have you followed people who have disappeared for a long period of time?”

“I had targets who disappeared for three weeks when I was assigned to the case, I found them under a month.”

“Very well, Mr Holt. You are vouched for by Blackwood, so here are 5,000 galleons upfront for expenses. Your job is to find a wizard who has disappeared for six years --”

“SIX years!” Benjy exclaimed.

“If you want to refuse the job, then say so.”

“No, Mr Black sir. I’m very sorry for the interruption.”

“Good. Now, there is a dossier on your target, but it will be easier if I explain the basic facts. Your target is a seven year old boy from a respectable family, a pureblood father and a muggleborn mother. The last time he was seen was by a family friend when he was one year old. Shortly after, the parents were murdered, their house was burnt down, and the boy disappeared into thin air. Have you heard of this case, Mr Holt?”

“No, sir.”

“The newspapers never talked about it, which I find a very curious point that may aid your investigation. Now, this boy has some important business with me. I do not want him harmed, only transferred into my care. We must be clear on this point, Mr Holt. I do not want the boy frightened or angered, act as if you are a well-paid au pair when you find him. Now do you have any questions?”

Benjy had a hundred different questions whirring around his brain. _If the boy’s disappeared for six years, isn’t it likely he’s dead? Why didn’t the newspapers report the incident? Are you related to the boy? Are you Blackwood’s Boss? Is your name really Mr Black? How does a man get a hold of five thousand galleons so easily?_

In the end, he settled for the simplest question.

“What is the boy’s name, sir?”

“His name,” Regulus Black drawled, tapping a finger against the well-polished oak desk. “ is Harry James Potter.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The rest of the chapters will not be as short as this and the story will be told in alternating POVs (mainly Sirius, Remus, and occasionally Regulus; and in the second arc we will have more Andromeda.) 
> 
> This is my first work, and I hope you like it.


	2. An Evening with Bella Black

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Non-graphic torture at the start of the story, skip to 'Longbottom'.

“Please! Please! Please let me go!”

“... _not acting the same, his pupils dilated, like he’s high you know_ …”

“I’ll keep my mouth shut, I promise!”

“... _having different opinions, it’s like he’s been bewitched_...”

“PLEASE!”

“... _he stopped listening to Jones and started making these mad decisions. It’s like he’s become a different person!_ ”

The recording ended but the creature continued wailing.

Bellatrix stopped the cruciatus, but did not lower her wand from the prisoner.

“Was that all you told Mr.Ferguson?”

The prisoner nodded, tears streaming down his face. “I swear, I swear by the Bible, that’s all I told him.”

Bella rolled her eyes and sent the poor fucker into a stupefy-assisted sleep.

“I’m really sorry about this.” The official interrogator, Henry Bluebottle, told Bella. “The current batch of veritaserum’s gone wonky. Something about the nettles, I think. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have bothered you.”

“That’s the fourth time you’ve apologised.” Bellatrix rolled her eyes. “Morgana’s saggy tits, I wish I knew how to do legilimency properly. All I can do right now is make the fucker forget how to use a spoon.”

“I’m really sorry, Octavius is losing his touch. I swear if that little shit weren’t related to my wife, I’d force feed him his own potions.”

“You want him transferred?” Bella examined her fingernails. Hmm, the black paint on her thumbnail was getting a little chipped. She should get Madam Alaya to look at it later, have Cissy make the appointment.

“Out of the potions department? If you could, without Elara knowing.”

“A favor for a favor?”

“An open favor for Bellatrix Black?” Bluebottle laughed. “I don’t like hiding bodies in my backyard, thank you very much.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. A handy crucio for an interrogation is not just a floocall away despite what you may think, Bluebottle.”

“Today it is.”

“Just for today,” Bellatrix agreed. “But other days I might be busy. Really, a reasonable favor is all I ask for in exchange.”

“Alright.” The wizard sighed. “Can we get back to work now?”

Bellatrix casted the countercurse and the creature wearily opened its eyes. Upon seeing her, it burst into tears.

“How do we know he’s telling the truth?” Bluebottle asked curiously. 

“We don’t.”

Bluebottle looked horrified. “Then why the hell did you crucify him?”

“Well, he might have revealed something more.” Bellatrix shrugged. Bluebottle was such a pusillanimous twat, it amazed her how he could have risen as an interrogator in the ranks. “Do you know anyone good at legilimency?”

“Nope.”

“Then I hope you know a good Obliviator, because I’m not going to obliviate this poor fucker for you.”

“What? That’s it? We’re going to wrap this up?”

“Bluebottle, I’m tired,” she whined. Time to put in some Bella-nipulation. "This thing looks like it’s told us all it knows. The poor fucker’s going to shit itself if I go any further, I hate the smell of dung, and you’re crap at cleaning spells. There’s nothing _I_ can do more about it. Call it a day, and make a note in this Ferguson’s file.”

In the end, Bluebottle unhappily acquiesced and Bella skipped happily out of the interrogation room. She was looking forward to dinner with her sister, especially since Lucius was in Japan for a business lunch. Merlin knows she fucking can’t stand that arrogant sod.

But first, she was going to have to take care of a few extracurricular activities.

“Black! Why the hell are you not in your office?”

Oh, shit.

“Longbottom,” Bella greeted. “Fancy seeing you here in the depths of the Ministry. Do you even have a pass to enter this floor?”

Frank Longbottom flashed a bronze badge with the words ‘Approved Visitor to the Department of Magical Clandestine Operations; Valid for January 15, 1988 Only’ inscribed.

“Adorable,” Bella said and casually shifted her own, which was inscribed with ‘Lifetime Guest of the Department of Magical Clandestine Operations’.

Longbottom snorted. “Yeah well, some of us aren’t mistresses to people whose name rhymes with Shrew-mottle. Nah, you can’t hex your own Auror buddy, Black. Pretty sure neither of us wants to deal with Mage Relations.”

Bella gave a shudder at that. In her opinion, the Mage Relations Department (established in 1954) was the most frightening department in the Ministry of Magic, even taking in account Clandestine Operations. Longbottom once asked the MR mages to help ‘reasoning’ with Bella and the session those bitches put both of them through was so terrifying, she and Longbottom both agreed to never ask them for help ever again.

“So, what are you doing here, Longbottom?” She asked. Merlin knows why Longbottom was assigned her ‘buddy’, she suspected Uncle Arcturus. The Black paterfamilias probably thought Frank Longbottom could keep her from the DMCO and using dark magic.

“We’ve got to write a report on the blood quill case yesterday, Moody wants it.”

“It’s _four_ _and_ _a half_. We can go home in _half an hour_.” Bellatrix said, flabbergasted. Does Schlongbottom know no bounds? Was he such a useless, incompetent partner he couldn’t write a paper by himself?

“Yeah, which is why we gotta hurry, unless you want to work overtime.”

“Fine.”

They hurried down the hall to the elevator, where the lift was already waiting for them.

“You know, dad told me back in the days, Aurors actually helped Hitmages catch dark wizards and witches.”

Bellatrix scoffed. “There is no such thing as a dark mage, Frankie-panky.”

“I mean people who practice dark magic.”

“Again, there is no such thing as dark magic. How on earth did you pass Defense?”

“I mean Aurors actually get around and do exciting stuff -- like duel and arrest dangerous people, not chase down stupid prankers who sold blood quills to muggles.” Longbottom waved his hands emphatically.

“Well, why don’t you apply to be a Hitmage then?”

“You know they’re awfully selective. No offense meant, Black, but you got rejected, didn’t you? And you’re one of the most powerful and clever Aurors in the department, not that that’s saying much. I mean you’re like the top of your class, but the Hitmages are really picky.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Bellatrix said bitterly, she knew fully well why the Hitmages didn’t accept her. It all boiled down to Uncle Arcturus and his Merlin-damned patriarchal views. “Stop chattering, Longbottom.”

But of course, Frank Longbottom was incapable of shutting up.

“Say, did you hear about that Dumbledore sighting last week?”

“No.”

“Really, they said they found a man with a long white beard puttering around Surrey. Bit of a random place, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“They said it was a Ministry worker who saw him, a Weasley who works in Muggle Artifacts. A Weasley! I heard a rumor that Headmaster Slughorn has some Weasley blood, but that’s probably not true, right?”

Bellatrix’s lips quirked. “Slughorn? A Weasley? Where on earth did you hear that? He’s as much a Weasley as I am.”

“Well, didn’t your great aunt or cousin marry a Weasley?”

“Get yourself a genetics book, Longbottom. I have no Weasley blood.”

“Yeah, yeah, alright. But still, Dumbledore spotted! It’s been two years since there’s a tip like that, I thought he was dead.”

“Don’t be gullible, he’s probably dead.” Bella admonished, Longbottom was such a strange creature. “You can’t break out an important prisoner like Grindelwald and not be dead.”

“Yeah, but there’s rumors -- rumors that say Dumbledore didn’t break out Grindelwald --”

Bellatrix snapped. “Where did you hear that?”

Longbottom looked taken aback. “It’s just a rumor, Black. I heard a couple of wizards talking about it at the Dragon’s Smog.”

“The one in Vertical Alley?” Bella noted to tell Cissy, or Bluebottle, or Crouch, or even Uncle Arcturus.

“Yes, but you don’t have to take it so seriously.”

“I’m not, I’m just curious what people think. And it’s dangerous to think a criminal like Dumbledore is innocent. People might get hurt.”

“Hmm, maybe you’re right. It’s still just talk, though.”

“Let’s just finish this report, Longbottom.”

Much to their relief, they finished the report in a record-breaking seventeen minutes and parted ways as amicably as they could. Bella happily arrived in the foyer of Malfoy Manor around six o’clock, changed out of her uniform in her guest bedroom, and waltzed down to the family dining room.

“Bella,” Narcissa greeted. 

Bellatrix collapsed into her usual chair, putting her elbows on the table. “Cissy, you would not believe what happened today.”

“Shall I guess? You crucioed someone because Bluebottle’s brother-in-law can’t brew veritaserum properly.”

“Cissy!”

“You’re positively _peppy_. Either you took a pepper-up or someone took a cruciatus. Did you at least offer to transfer Octavius Greenwise?”

“Yes, and I thought you could do it.”

Narcissa hummed and rang a little bell for the house-elves to bring dinner. “I’ll be a little bit busy, Uncle Arcturus wants me to look after a shipment of silver for the Ministry. They’ve brought in a new werewolf, you know, and there’s rumors that this might be the last one in Britain. They want to build another cage I expect.”

“I’ll never understand why they use werewolves as pseudo-aurors.” Bellatrix frowned at her French onion soup. “The buggers might have a good sense of smell and intimidating people, but there’s not much else they’re good at. And the silver and wolfsbane must be expensive.”

“Well, what else are they going to do with werewolves? Let them become Hogwarts professors?”  
“The classes would be more interesting.” Bellatrix shrugged. “On an unrelated note, Mulciber and Avery are running themselves ragged, imperiusing the muggle cabinet members --”

Narcissa gasped. “Bella! Not here!” She hissed, glancing around the family dining room.

“Merlin’s saggy balls,” The older witch complained. “We can’t even talk in our own homes -- isn’t Lucy supposed to have a hundred different wards surrounding this place?”

“It’s not under Fidelius, and we can’t take too many precautions. If you want to talk about the Government, then we’ll go to the Library.”

Bella was content to finish her soup first, and the sisters chatted lightly about robes (“Malkin’s is awful, I’m doing my shopping in Milan from now on”), Madam Zabini’s current husband (“A galleon he dies next year.” “You’re too cruel, I say he dies this year. Nora is quite good at covering her tracks.”), and where Draco was (“He’s at the Crabbes’ for a sleepover.” “Crabbe? Really? You want your son to grow up to be a dimwit?”) Half an hour later they retired to the Library for mugs of hot cocoa and business talk.

“Now what was that about Mulciber and Avery?” Cissy asked eagerly.

“Oh, they’re quite exhausted. There’s a new spike in distrust in the muggle Cabinet, not to mention the House of Commons. They think something’s up when a bunch of the elected Labors are suddenly sympathetic towards conservative policies. As much as I hate to admit it, if Lucy wasn’t so busy with the foreign ministers, we wouldn’t have such a fuck-up.”

Narcissa gave her sister a small smile which Bellatrix promptly ignored.

“Of course it helps that half of our representatives are bribed and don’t need imperiusing, but the Secretary of State for Defence, the MI5 lady, and the Exchequer person don’t accept money. So, Mulciber and Avery have to maintain three imperiuses together.”

“And what are they going to do? Surely they can’t go on doing a-person-and-a-half’s job?”

“You-know-who’s sending Rita Skeeter to clean up the mess in the short term. Celebrity scandals and what not to distract the muggles. For the long term, Yaxley proposed we should actually have more of our people in the Cabinet, maybe one as Prime Minister.”

“Like Uncle Marius?”

Bellatrix nodded. Marius Black, who had been formerly disowned because of his lack of magical ability, was reinstated after they ran out of mages capable of maintaining imperius curses. Uncle Marius, an Eton and Cambridge alumnus, required very little in family gold and confundus charms to become the muggle Prime Minister. Legend said Aloysius Avery Sr. once kissed Marius the Squib’s boots from the pure joy of not having to cast another fucking imperius.

The Squib Solution, as it was called, worked so well that all the squibs in the Old Family were ordered to read politics at muggle universities. Not all of them succeeded in their political career of course, but a handful of squibs were in the muggle Parliament, and one of them was the muggle Industry Minister.

“That will be difficult.” Cissy murmured. “A squib is easy to find, but a competent and loyal one? Maybe a mage is easier -- what about Andy?”

“What about her?” Bellatrix disliked any mention of their estranged sister. Andromeda Black had eloped with a muggleborn Hufflepuff upon her graduation, much to the fury of Uncle Arcturus and her parents, since she had been promised to Rodolphus Lestrange. The Lestranges demanded Bellatrix or Narcissa as the new Mrs Lestrange, a fate both sisters wished to avoid. Cissy was proposed by Lucius Malfoy the very next day, while Bella camped outside of Uncle Arcturus’ study, pleading for another husband. 

In the end, Uncle Arcturus yielded to his great niece’s demands, provided that she became an Auror instead of a Hitmage, and a girl from a cadet Black line was given to the Lestranges. Bella hoped Amaryllis Blackwood was very happy with her wedding.

“She would have a paper trail in the muggle world. I heard she got a job as a marketing director.” Narcissa took a small sip from her mug. “She might not have gone to a muggle school but she did go to a muggle college, didn’t she?”

“She’s a traitor.”

Cissy continued to ignore her. “I heard she named her daughter Nymphadora, that’s a proper Black name, isn’t it?”

“You hear so many things, Cissy.” Bellatrix did not want to talk about Andromeda. “Maybe we don’t need a squib. Maybe you could do it.”

“Me?” Narcissa scoffed. “Lucius wouldn’t allow it. I’m a Malfoy now, Malfoys aren’t supposed to hold positions to avoid liabilities, it’s like an unofficial house motto. Besides, I don’t have a decent muggle paper trail, aside from the Swiss bank account.”

“Pity,” Bella slurped the last of her cocoa. “I wished I was better at the imperius or at politics, Merlin knows I’m getting bored with being an Auror. Cissy, the amount of stupid people I deal with each day! Some little fucker decided it was a good idea to make nose-biting teacups for muggles, and another thought making all the toilets in an office building magically regurgitate would be hilarious. The _smell_.”

“Why don’t you apply to be an interrogator? Or a hitwitch?”

“Didn’t I tell you? Uncle Arcturus said he’d cut off my inheritance if I did.” Bella yawned. “The old man thinks I should pop out a baby or two before using dark magic or recklessly endangering myself. No, he doesn’t know about my favors for Bluebottle.” Bellatrix added once Narcissa looked at her questioningly. “And don’t go tattling to our Pater, Prissy Cissy.”

“I won’t.” Narcissa rolled her eyes. “But you must admit that our House is in a rather precarious position. I only have one son, you and Regulus aren’t married, Andromeda is disowned, and Sirius -- well, let’s not talk about Sirius. Morgana forbid a Blackselte or a Blackwood inherit Grimmauld Place and the other houses.”

Narcissa went on a rant on how Amaryllis Blackwood would neglect the priceless tapestries and sell Aunt Cassiopeia’s jewelry collection. Bella half-listened to her sister as she considered how to convince the Black paterfamilias that Miss Bellatrix Black should get a more exciting job than an Auror. Perhaps Uncle Arcturus would want her to work in Black Enterprises? Bella knew Uncle Arcturus wanted someone in the Ministry, but perhaps a trade with Regulus...

“-- and the Grimmauld Place nursery! The painted wallpaper --!”

“Cissy,” Bella interrupted. “Then why don’t you try for another child with Lucius? That one can be Malfoy-Black --”

“Don’t you think I’m trying?” Cissy snapped. Oh dear, Bella forgot that was a touchy subject. “What about you? When will you marry someone? Try one of Nott’s Scandinavian cousins or maybe a French Rosier or maybe Mulciber!”

“Oh for fuck’s sake! I’d rather marry a werewolf than fuck Mulciber.”

“Alright,” Narcissa exhaled slowly. “We’re getting carried away. Regulus isn’t going to disappear anywhere and he might marry a nice Bulgarian girl soon, then there’ll be Black babies wailing in the Black nursery. We should calm down.”

Bella resisted pointing out that Cissy was the only one who needed to calm down.

“I still think Andy can still be in the House of Commons though. She made herself well-liked enough to be Prefect and Head Girl, and she has a good head on her shoulders. And who else has a credible muggle paper trail?”

“Even if she has the capabilities to be a politician, why would she want to help the House of Black and its allies?”

Narcissa frowned.

“And don’t give me some hippogriff dung about naming her daughter Nymphadora again.”

Narcissa’s frown deepened. 

“I’ll think of a solution in the morning,” She declared.

Bellatrix snorted, but she had some faith that Cissy would succeed. The Malfoys weren’t you-know-who’s political advisors for nothing.


	3. Black the Brotherless

Six months after Bellatrix crucio-ed Mr Ferguson’s aide, a tawny owl knocked on the window of her cousin Sirius’ flat. Sirius pointedly pulled the curtains shut, only for the owl to keep pecking loudly on the glass pane. After an hour of insistent tapping, he surrendered and let the owl in. 

The letter attached to its leg read:

Dear Sirius,

As much as I loathe pulling you out of your self-imposed exile from the magical world, I feel that your brother’s disappearance merits some of your attention.

Regulus has vanished for six months now. He was last seen entering the family library by Narcissa on the 30th of January. There has been no demand of ransom nor boast of him being held captive from any unsavory persons. I have not informed the Aurors because of the sensitive nature of Regulus’ work, but before you start levying accusations about me being uncaring, I have hired some discreet private detectives.

They had no success. The only facts they believed to be inarguable were what the family already knew: Regulus disapparated from the Black Family Library some time between seven o’clock to nine o’clock in the evening. There is no trace of him in Britain nor in our neighboring countries, and the underworld has not heard of an abduction of someone with his profile.

The only clue we have now is Regulus’ writings. Your brother has been researching magical theory and has kept numerous books on the subject, including a dozen journals of his own hypotheses and experiments. I have skimmed through one of them and found their contents to be semi-legal at best, three-years-in-Azkaban-worthy at worst. My hypothesis is Regulus did an experiment that accidentally banished him to some blind spot on the globe or perhaps stumbled upon some arcane information someone would not like him to know about. 

The family has tried to find clues in Regulus’ accounts, but all of us are too detained by our work to dedicate our full time to the matter, which brings us to the point of the letter.

Stop tampering with motorcycles and help us sort through the books and the journals. You were a bright child, Sirius, you had good grades in Defense and Charms; and you may offer us more insight into your brother’s disappearance. Be assured that you will be well-compensated for this full-time job. You may even hire an assistant to help you if you wish. You have nothing to lose and everything to gain.

I hope whatever grievance against the magical world you have will be put aside in favor of your brother’s safety. We are not asking you to walk through Diagon Alley, but to merely visit the family’s library. If you agree to work with us, meet me at the Mandarin Oriental tearoom tomorrow at three o’clock in the evening. If not, at least come to assure me that one of my grandsons is still safe.

Until then, I remain

Your grandfather and paterfamilias,

Arcturus Black

Sirius sank down on his armchair and thoughts jumbled together in his head. Fantastic notions that perhaps Regulus was kidnapped by a Hungarian Horntail or trapped in a writhing lake of Inferi or stuck at the top of a Phoenix’s Mountain jousted and jostled for his attention. 

Sirius considered whether Grandfather was lying, but that would serve no other purpose than to have tea with Sirius, and Grandfather wasn’t someone who liked deceiving others. The old man was as fond of loopholes as an Ogden was fond of firewhiskey, but he despised complete deviation from the truth. He never made a habit to lie to Sirius and Sirius liked to think the old man still had some affection left for him.

After Walburga beat Sirius in the summer after his first year as a Gryffindor, Arcturus Black obtained custody of both his grandsons and dramatically forbade their parents to see them ever again. Sirius had felt grateful towards and awed by his grandfather since then.

Life at the Black Country Estate was civil for the Black brothers, Grandfather took no notice of their exploits as long as they were quiet and attended their meals. Sometimes, he would deign to play chess with them. Sirius would have idolized him if not for Andy’s banishment from the family.

It must have been quite a comical scene, a twelve-year-old going on a hunger strike to protest his cousin’s disownment. Sirius had barely lasted a day before he secretly stole a cookie jar from the kitchen and reluctantly agreed to be civil with Grandfather after the strike had failed, but Sirius couldn’t see him as a guardian after that. It scared him that Arcturus Black could throw members of his own family out on a whim.

After Sirius graduated, they argued about his career. Arcturus Black wanted his grandson to help with the family business, but Sirius wanted to be a Hitwizard. 

“For Merlin’s sake,” Grandfather had said. “You and Bellatrix are the same, eager to get yourselves killed. At least be an Auror.”

Sirius had refused, and they later agreed that Sirius would take a respectable year-long world tour with Peter before applying for a job. And then, of course, James got Lily pregnant and Mrs Potter insisted they get married. Sirius became busy with being Lily’s housekeeper, wedding planner, personal assistant, stylist, secretary, chef, chauffeur, and therapist since James was overwhelmed with work as an Auror trainee and Lily still had to complete her Mastery of Charms. Grandfather was not pleased with this arrangement. 

“You didn’t graduate with an Outstanding N.E.W.T. in Defense to become a lady’s maid,” He had said.

Sirius ignored him and continued arguing with James about bridal veils and how many courses a wedding banquet should have.

After Harry was born, Sirius became a part-time nanny and began fixing motorcycles for muggles, which did not improve his grandfather’s mood. Then one day, James told him and Peter that he needed one of them to become a secret keeper for the Potters’ house and James wouldn’t tell them why even after endless hours of questioning. He had never kept a secret from Sirius before, and it worried Sirius enough that he almost wrecked a customer’s Harley Davidson that day.

In the end, they stopped the inquisition and Sirius proposed Peter as the secret-keeper. His reasoning was that Peter was less noticeable in the magical world and people tend to underestimate him.

Sirius did not know how right he was. One day, after finishing his job at the repair shop, Sirius apparated to the Potter’s house to find it burnt down with James and Lily’s charred corpses in the living room. Harry’s body was not to be found.

Sirius was apoplectic with rage. He tried to track Peter down and caught the little shit fucking strolling in Diagon Alley as if he didn’t have a hand in killing his own best friends. He would have flayed the motherfucking rat if the Aurors hadn’t stunned him first.

Sirius tried to convince the Aurors that Peter Pettigrew had been in a conspiracy to murder the Potters, but there was no proof that the Potters had ever lived under a Fidelius, let alone evidence that showed Pettigrew was their secret keeper. It seemed that Lily had been too good with her charm-work. 

As far as the Aurors were concerned, Peter Pettigrew had no motive (he was the Potter’s friend), no opportunity (he was in France the day of the murder), and no weapon (his wand was clean). The Auror in charge of the case advised Sirius to find a grief counselor, at which point he cursed the witch with an itching rash and was fined for his efforts.

Even his own family thought that Sirius was being delusional. They listened but treated his words like he was a babbling child. He could see it in their eyes, _He’s got the Black madness at last_ . When fucking _Bellatrix_ pitied him, Sirius knew that was the last straw. He tried to hunt Pettigrew down, only for the rat to die in some potion accident Sirius had nothing to do with. Such was the fate of Sirius Black’s life.

The Aurors questioned him, but Sirius had a foolproof alibi of eating lunch at the Three Broomsticks and Grandfather was imposing enough that they did not dare harass a Black. 

After Pettigrew’s death, Sirius thought he might gain some closure, but he did not. He couldn’t walk down Diagon Alley without thinking about Pettigrew’s betrayal, and he couldn’t see his family or his friends without suspecting that they thought he was bonkers. In the depths of his mind, he still suspected a conspiracy being related to the death of the Potters.

So, Sirius removed himself from the magical world and generally lived as a twenty-seven year old hermit and he was content! Until he read Grandfather’s letter.

He had already lost James, he didn’t want to lose another brother.

Therefore, he arrived at the Mandarin Oriental ten minutes to three, dressed well enough to be mistaken as a wealthy businessman. The hostess fluttered her eyelashes at Sirius and escorted him to where Mr A.P. Black was sitting with a pot of tea and some sandwiches on the table.

“Sirius,” Arcturus Black did not look like he had aged the past seven years. Grey hairs still did not sprout on the old man’s head and he had retained his aura of power and authority.

“Grandfather.” 

“I am pleased to see you here.”

“I’m not sure I could say the same.”

“Take a seat.” 

Sirius obliged.

“So, do you agree to help us?”

“Of course. You should have told me about Regulus the day after he disappeared.”

Grandfather said defensively. “Detangling your owl wards was no cakewalk, I had to hire a professional to do it, which he took a month to do, and we were already busy trying--”

“Alright, alright. I’m sorry about the owl wards, but you have to admit they were necessary in the earlier years. I accept my share of blame. When do I begin the job?”

“You can start tomorrow. Regulus’ files are in the library at the country estate, they are bound to the house so you cannot take them out of the ward boundaries.”

“I don’t want to see anyone.”

Grandfather nodded. “You will have your privacy.”

“So, that’s it? Read a bunch of books and journals and get paid?”

“It is not as simple as it looks.” Arcturus Black scowled, and took a sip of his tea. “Regulus has managed to encrypt most of his journals. The first one is in Ancient Runes, so I managed to translate that volume but the other journals need some sort of codeword or passkey to read them. And I will need your assistance in Black Enterprises --”

“What?” Sirius stood up. “I told you I don’t want a hand in that shady family business. How the hell is that related to Regulus?”

“Regulus used to look after some accounts for me, and while Narcissa is helping me with what used to be Regulus’ responsibility, she also has her own business to look after. The workload is horrendous; we are both sleeping under six hours each day, and Narcissa confesses she barely has time to spend with her child. Her son, Draco, is around Harry--”

“Stop.” Sirius snapped, glaring at his Grandfather. “I don’t want any talk about the Potters.”

“Very well, but for the sake of a mother wanting to spend more time with her child, won’t you look after some import-export accounts? There is nothing illegal about buying and selling silver.”

“I will expect increased pay.”

“Gold is not an issue.”

“Alright,” Sirius said reluctantly, sitting down. “Translating journals and balancing checkbooks, shouldn’t be much of a problem. What was Regulus’ first journal about?”

“It has to do with the topic you did not want me to speak about.”

“Regulus was writing about the _Potters_? And you didn’t think to tell me in the letter?”

“It would have been too much of a risk to write that in a letter, you would have thought I was lying to you.”

“It’s just -- oh, Merlin’s saggy balls! What did he find out?”

“A great deal. Suffice to say, I apologise for thinking you were wrong.” Arcturus Black said grimly.

“But -- I must read them at once!”

“Sirius, sit down!”

Sirius tried to calm himself. He couldn’t believe Regulus had believed Sirius’ story enough to actually research about it. He had to give more credit to his brother. He was right! Pettigrew was a rat! He had to read Regulus’ journal now! He cannot wait! He wanted to do a victory dance, but that would be inappropriate -- considering Regulus is fuck knows where, but still--

“Grandfather, tomorrow will be too late! This is urgent!”

Sirius promptly disapparated in the middle of the Mandarin Oriental’s tea room. Who gave a fuck about the Statute of Secrecy? He had a brother to rescue!

Sirius appeared at the Black country estate, an unplottable location positioned in the wrinkles of the physical world. Sirius swung open the front doors, hurried up the staircase to the second floor, and opened the first door on his right.

The library was no different than when Sirius first came to the manor. It boasted two floors, wide windows, and a hundred bookshelves filled with the most arcane and commonplace volumes. There was a coffee table in the centre of the library, and right then it was supporting a large pile of leather bound books and a small note in Narcissa’s handwriting saying “Regulus’ book collection from 1982-1988’.

Sirius eagerly looked through their titles: _Journal of R. A. B., 1982_ ; _The Nature of Magic_ ; _Interesting Blood Wards_ ; _Journal of R. A. B., 1984_ ; _The Importance of Sacrifices_ ; _Fundamental Charms for Parchment Complexes; Journal of R. A. B., 1986_ ; and _The Basics of Tracking Spells_ were etched into some of the books’ spines. 

He grinned, grabbed _Journal of R. A. B., 1982_ , and hopped onto a nearby sofa.

_April 5th, 1982_

_I believe Harry Potter is alive._


	4. Remus Lupin and the Absence of Breakfast

“ _It is now five o’clock in the morning._ ” The tinny voice of the magical speakers announced. “ _All operatives must report to the courtyard at six sharp. I repeat: all operatives must report to the courtyard at six sharp, no exceptions._ ”

Remus rubbed his eyes and tried to squirm out of his blanket cocoon.

“Strange, innit?” His roommate said. “All operatives? Who would dare bother Greyback at eight in the morning, let alone six sharp.”

“I dunno, Dolph.”

“Health check-up? They usually happen ‘round this time of the year.”

“Hmm.”

“You talk to him much?”

“Who?”

“Greyback, of course. Who else do you think I was talking ‘bout?”

“Not much.” Remus changed from his ministry-issued pajamas into the lycanthropic operative uniform. The suit was an upsetting shade of green and had lots of pockets. The two bronze stripes on the shoulders showed that R. J. Lupin was a Delta, Second Class. 

The werewolves were organised according to the dynamics of a traditional wolf pack. Fenrir Greyback was, of course, the Alpha and ‘leader’. Redteeth and Bolton were the Betas, or second-in-commands. These two were the ones in charge of ordering training regimens, selecting who should do which job, and overseeing the daily needs of the werewolf camp. In Remus’ humble opinion, Redteeth and Bolton would have overthrown Greyback long ago, had there not been a disgusting amount of Greyback-worship among the Deltas.

A Delta was an average lycanthrope: they helped interrogators terrorize captives, killed anyone that the Betas marked as a target, or helped with the administration’s paperwork. Remus was fortunate in mostly being assigned to the latter, as he was one of the rare werewolves who could read well and do simple arithmetics. Most werewolves were collected directly after they were turned, which was usually when they were four or five, when their minds would be pliable to suggestions and quick to forget the taste of being untethered.

Remus was a rare case as his parents raised a Fidelius ward immediately after he was bitten, living nine years in secret before they decided that they were safe.

A week after Lyall Lupin pulled the wards down, Remus was drugged and brought to the Lycanthropes’ Complex. At first he tried to resist, trying to break the bars on his windows and refusing to eat his meals. A visit from Greyback, the werewolf who turned him, disabused him of that notion.

He then tried to keep his head down at the Complex, but it was impossible since Greyback was his sire. People attempted to curry favor with Remus, eager to get into the Alpha’s good graces through his ‘son’. His eleven-year-old self refused to talk to anyone, and to his relief, people started regarding him as ‘a natural lone wolf’ and stayed away, which suited him just fine. It was the one time he actually felt grateful for lycanthropic etiquette.

“Hey, Lupin!”

“Yes?”

“You were zoning out. You really don’t talk to him much?”

At other times, he felt werewolf dynamics were utter bullshit.

“No, I don’t.” He tried to say as politely as possible. He felt sorry for Dolph, who was an Omega. Omegas were demoted Deltas, someone who had fucked up so much they were given the title as a punishment. There was no peace for Omegas. They were pushed around, used as a punching bag, and generally assigned as the scapegoat for all the trials and tribulations of a Delta’s life. Your drill sergeant yelled at you? You can yell at an Omega. Your girlfriend broke up with you? Punch an Omega. One of your mates died on a mission? An Omega should reserve a bed in the infirmary.

When he was thirteen, Remus had asked Beta Bolton whether Omegas could be promoted up to a Delta.

“Of course, young Lupin. We are not without mercy,” Bolton had said with a gentle smile. “Omegas can be promoted back when they’re dead. Now off you trot, little cub, I believe you still need to check the main larder’s inventory.”

Remus was not quite sure what Dolph had done (there were rumors that Redteeth’s mate had been too fond of him), but Remus should be kind with the Omega. “Greyback doesn’t want to talk to me more than any other werewolf of my station, he wants to avoid nepotism.”

“Nepotism?”

“When you favor someone related to you for a job.”

“But isn’t that normal?”

Remus sighed. “We should go to the cafeteria for breakfast.” He hated seeing people dejected, but in truth there was nothing he could do for Dolph’s situation.

Remus knew that if he wasn’t sired by Greyback, his borderline-rebellious behaviour would have also made him an Omega. Refusal to worship Greyback or to socialize with other werewolves is almost treason. Being bitten by the Alpha was the only thing keeping Remus from becoming an Omega or a Delta, Third Class (although he liked to think that Bolton was too fond of Remus’ bookkeeping to sentence him to the rabble).

In truth, Remus was amazed that Dolph still had some fight left in him. Most of the Omegas Remus saw had given up entirely on their situation. What could be harder than breathing the same air with people who saw you as no more than a meat puppet? But Remus could see the usefulness of the Omega’s role in the pack. Every Delta would have rebelled against their hierarchy if they did not have an outlet for their frustration.

The duo strolled (or in Dolph’s case, shambled) along the corridor connecting the barracks to the cafeteria. The Lycanthropes’ complex had a simple layout, three round buildings (the barracks, the cafeteria, and the offices) connected by corridors with a triangular courtyard in the center. There was no physical entrance into the complex, one had to travel magically by floo, portkey, or apparition. 

“What?” Dolph said in surprise. “Why’s the cafeteria closed?”

The cafeteria indeed appeared to be closed. The doors were locked, barred with a silver rod and a sheet of paper stating ‘all operatives must report to the courtyard.”

“This is so unfair!” Remus’ roommate whined. “How are we supposed to get breakfast?”

“Let’s just go to the courtyard.”

It was strange. The cafeteria had never been closed as far as Remus could remember. Sustenance was important for troops, especially for ones as energetic as werewolves. Greyback liked to boast that their rations were double the size of any squadron in the Ministry of Magic, a statement that Remus unfortunately could not disprove. He had never seen the inside of a human’s cafeteria.

Remus had met many human interrogators in his career, but he had never asked them once about their meals. The werewolf’s job in the interrogation room had little opportunity for socializing. The job requirements were baring teeth, growling, scratching, and _almost_ biting. If these four tactics did not yield results, an interrogator may apply for a full moon interrogation where the captive is locked in the same cell as a werewolf.

Remus was very curious about humans, the only two humans he had relationships with were his mum and dad, whom he tried his best to not think of. Other than the silent interrogators, Remus only met with humans at the annual health-check up for werewolves. The last interaction had been brusque and formal. He hoped that not all humans were that unfriendly.

Remus lined up with his squad on the courtyard and Dolph left him to go to the Omegas’ group. He was beginning another self-reflection when he was interrupted.

“The Ministry wants us to leave twenty minutes early,” His squad leader announced. “So. everyone gather ‘round. Right, we’re gonna touch this portkey together.” 

She brandished a flat bronze disk about two handspans wide. “And then I’m going to say the activation word and we’re going to arrive in the Ministry for our health check-up.”

“Is that why we didn’t have breakfast this morning?”

“Yeah, yeah. Now shut it and grab the thing. Right, _flobberworm_.”

Remus felt a strange pulling sensation around his navel and he quickly squeezed his eyes shut. His body stretched and collapsed on itself as he warped and whooshed through the fabric of reality to land in the austere lobby of the Ministry’s ‘lycanthropic zone’. Remus felt a little dizzy but succeeded in not stumbling.

“Righto,” The squad leader said, after everyone seemed to be in no danger of vomiting. “line up and follow me.”

The squad, composed of ten wolves who were more or less part-time pencil pushers at the Complex, marched along as the squad leader led them through a corridor and into a small waiting room. Remus and his colleagues sat obediently on the straight-back wooden chairs while a witch in matron robes fiddled with a clipboard.

“Operative Francis Dolph,” the matron announced.

Remus’ dorm mate stepped forward.

“Report to Healer MacNair, Cubicle 4.”

Dolph plodded along the corridor and disappeared into one of the small cubicles used for health check-ups.

Every year, the werewolves line up to be prodded, tested, and put through various medical examinations. The lucky ones get to be dissected while the unlucky ones (usually the old and infirm) get to be disembowelled, all in the noble pursuit of science. Remus heard several unlucky fellows were used as testers for dermatological creams.

“Operative Remus Lupin, report to Healer Bluebottle, Cubicle 5.”

Remus nodded and walked past Dolph’s cubicle, his stomach growling from not having breakfast. He didn’t understand why the werewolves’ cafeteria was shut down this morning. He thought, as he opened door 5, that he could eat a whole hippogriff and still be hungry.

“Operative Lupin,” The healer greeted. “Come in and have a seat.”

Remus obeyed and observed the witch before him.

Healer Bluebottle was a rather beautiful woman, with black curls and high cheekbones. The wand in her hand was made of dark-colored wood and it was thankfully not pointing at Remus yet, although he was rather disturbed by her grin.

“I’m going to have to bind you to the chair.” Healer Bluebottle said. “Please keep calm. Now, I’m going to ask you a few questions.”

“Is this a psychological evaluation?”

“No.” The witch replied, her grey eyes glittering in amusement. “Mr Lupin, why do you think you were collected by the Ministry at age eleven?”

What kind of question was that? Maybe the Ministry is administering intelligence tests on werewolves at last.

“To decrease the likelihood of me hurting someone.”

“And why do you think all werewolves have to undergo martial training?”

“To become better operatives?” Remus was confused, was this a propaganda reaffirmation technique?

“I worded that poorly. Why do you think werewolves have to become ‘operatives’?”

“Greyback says it’s because we have more strength and agility in our human-form than humans, and, well, the wolf-form is almost invincible.”

“Except for the silver arrow curse.”

“Yes, but that’s difficult to cast correctly.”

“I see you have been reading research papers.”

Remus flushed. “I -- it’s not illegal --”

“I’m not here to arrest you. Mr Lupin, you are the only werewolf who is literate, are you not?”

“As far as I know of.” Operatives younger than him were collected before they could read. Among the senior werewolves, he was the only literate one left since Emma and John were ‘executed’ by Greyback for insubordination.

“Then read these abstracts for me.” Healer Bluebottle handed him two pieces of paper, which appeared to be the covers of some research papers.

The General Physical Ability of Lycanthropes in Human Form Compared to True Humans

It is a common belief that human-form lycanthropes have a better physical ability than true humans, although there has been no credible research to support this view. The goal of this study was to determine the strength, endurance, and agility of human-form werewolves compared to true humans. Forty werewolves and forty humans with similar physical training were selected to test their ability in lifting heavy objects, running for five miles, and dodging incoming punches. They were evaluated according to the heaviest weight they could lift, the time they spent running, and their successfulness in avoiding injury. The first trials were conducted around the new moon and the second trials were conducted near the full moon. The researchers found no significant difference in the strength, endurance, or agility of human-form werewolves and true humans. We conclude that human-form lycanthropes have no physical advantage over true humans. 

Improvement on the Silver Arrow Curse

The previous spell model for the Silver Arrow Curse which is targeted against werewolves was infeasible for use in actual combat because it required a lot of magical energy in one instant from the caster. This was because the atmospheric nitrogen was immediately changed into silver. In this study, we propose using an incremental pathway for the spell model instead. After experimenting with various combinations, we found that changing nitrogen into neon, then xenon, then finally argentum was the best pathway for quick casting and feasible power input. 95% of those surveyed agreed that they were more likely to use this new form of the Silver Arrow Curse than rely on silver transfiguration, which requires more mental concentration and is not recommended for inexperienced mages.

“Do you understand what these reports mean, Lupin?” The witch asked.

“I -- I don’t --”

“The facts are that keeping a small werewolf army is expensive. The training, the potions, the silver restraints: they are all expensive. But the Ministry was willing to pay that expense for what they thought to be an elite force of killing machines. Now, that you are no stronger than an average mage --”

“They’re going to fire us?”

“Human employees are fired. The Ministry does not only believe werewolves are no longer human, they think you are dogs.”

“You have no proof that these reports are true.”

Bluebottle’s lip curled. “You have a point.” She raised her wand and silently waved it at the wall beside her in a series of swishes and jabs. To Remus’ amazement, a large portion of the wall slowly became transparent and allowed them both to see into the next cubicle.

A large grizzled wizard in healers’ robes was stunning a werewolf into sleeping on a patient’s bed. The healer then changed his wand into a large silver axe, which he arched back into a swing, and Remus watched on in horror as the axe swung down on Dolph’s neck.

Blood spattered onto the healer’s robes but the man paid it no attention. The healer briskly wheeled the bed through a door in the back, his face full of guileless self-satisfaction as if he had just cut down a tree for firewood.

Bluebottle performed her wand waving again and the wall became solid.

“It was a one-way mirror trick, so you don’t have to worry about Macnair seeing us.” She said, unbinding him from the patient’s chair. “Lupin, you are probably feeling frightened right now, but we need to apparate away within three minutes -- that’s when the real Bluebottle comes in and she doesn’t want to be truly complicit in this.”

Remus felt bile rising in his throat, and he tried to vomit before remembering he hadn’t had any breakfast. Then he realized why there wasn’t any breakfast this morning. _No use feeding a dead dog_ , the nihilist of his mind supplied.

“Really, Lupin. We need to go, grab my hand.”

He stared blankly at her, she was standing by Remus’ chair now. Was she going to kill him too?

“I’m not going to kill you.” Not-Bluebottle said with a touch of indignance. “And yes, I just read your mind. If I wanted to kill you, I wouldn’t have bothered to explain the whole thing -- do you know how much time I spent memorizing the lines Cissy gave me? I told her we should grab you the first moment you stepped into the room, but does Narcissa Fucking Malfoy listen to anyone? Fuck this!”

She then grabbed his wrists and Remus felt his poor stomach twist and turn even more as they apparated out of the cubicle. Remus seldom got to side-apparate with a mage as it required human-to-werewolf physical contact, something that everyone frowned upon. He did have to apparate with some hitmages once or twice the squeezed-through-a-tube sensation made him certain he preferred portkeying over apparition.

They arrived in a ridiculously luxurious foyer with a sparkling chandelier. The floor had a plush carpet and detailed tapestries hung on the walls. The room had eight doors and floor-to-ceiling windows, each perfect for a quick escape.

“Don’t be an idiot.” Not-Bluebottle told him. “I -- don’t -- want -- to -- kill -- you. In fact, if I kill you, someone is probably going to kill me. But I can’t let you run off either, because then someone is going to kill both me _and_ you.”

Perhaps it was reasonable to play along for now, Remus thought and followed Not-Bluebottle through a corridor which ultimately led to a rather fancy sitting room. The witch gestured for him to sit down on an opposite armchair.

“Firewhiskey?” She offered.

Remus shook his head. If he drank something now, he was going to vomit.

They sat in silence, and Remus felt a little grateful that she had stopped talking.

He didn’t have a lot of friends, even when he was in the Academy. Since he was ‘collected’ late, the other werewolves were wary of his ‘human-ish’ behaviour and Remus had no desire to have ‘werewolf-ish’ behaviour like his peers either. But he had his acquaintances, and he would grieve for Channa and Dolph and Lovett and even Silvertail. Remus decided he would not grieve for Greyback, he would not regret his sire being dead but he would regret the price his death had come with.

“All the werewolves?” He asked Not-Bluebottle.

“All the werewolves under the Ministry, which is practically all in Britain.”

“So, not complete genocide, then.” Remus said dryly. “Did you save anyone else besides me?”

The witch shook her head. “We had time constraints and there was only one corpse in the warehouse. Even if we had two corpses, transfiguring one to match someone else’s magical and blood identity isn’t two-minute charmwork.”

“Then why rescue me?”

“Oh, I was wondering when you’d ask. You see, my cousin needs a new personal assistant.”

Remus blinked.

“Excuse me?”  
“You’re excused. A new personal assistant with a life-debt-level of loyalty, one preferably intelligent and capable of reading books.”

“Life debt?”

“Yes. Since the House of Black saved your life, you owe us a life debt -- do you know what a life debt is?”

Remus opened his mouth and closed it, then shook his head. “Not in the magical sense, I’m assuming it’s in the magical sense.”

“And you would be correct,” said a voice from behind him.

Remus turned to see a blond woman dressed in witch’s robes dramatically standing in the doorway. She had the same grey eyes and straight nose as Not-Bluebottle. The woman scrutinized his face, staring into his eyes. Remus felt a prickle at the back of his head, were humans normally this aggressive? He couldn’t remember feeling so uncomfortable with his parents.

The prickling stopped when the woman blinked, she turned to Not-Bluebottle.

“Bella, why did you not introduce yourself to Mr Lupin?”

Bella Not-Bluebottle scowled. “I didn’t see it was necessary.”

“Names establish trust,” the blonde lectured and turned to Remus. “You may call me Mrs Malfoy or Madam, and you can address _her_ as Miss Black. Mr Lupin, let me make matters very clear to you. You are homeless and unemployed, with no hope of getting a job in either the magical or muggle world. We are willing to offer you decent wages, room, and board in exchange for some clerical services you can provide, does that not sound good to you?”

“With all due respect, it sounds too good.”

“The only caveat is you will not talk about your job nor will you act upon whatever information you learnt in your job unless your employer permits it.”

Remus considered this for a moment then asked. “That doesn’t answer why you rescued me, you can just ask anyone for an unbreakable vow.”

“A well-read werewolf is a rare gem,” said Miss Black in jest.

“Unbreakable vows can be broken before the swearer dies and they have loopholes. Life debts, on the other hand, cannot be broken until the savior accepts that you have fulfilled your life debt. It will also be difficult for you to harm the savior in any way, a life debt is similar to an oath of fealty. Try throwing a punch at Miss Black.”

“Cissy!”

Remus tried to raise his hand, but he found that he found the idea too abhorrent to even think of.

“We bear no ill will against you, Mr Lupin.” Mrs Malfoy said soothingly. “As a show of our generosity, you may have two days to think about it. In the meanwhile, you’re welcome to have full use of the guest wing and some parts of the grounds. If you happen to be lost in the manor, ask the portraits or call for a house-elf. Kooky will show you to your guest bedroom. Kooky!”

A house-elf popped into the sitting room.

“Show Mr Lupin to his room. Good, you brought the bread and salt. Mr Lupin, if you would please, it’s traditional.”

Remus obediently took a bite of the fluffy bread sprinkled with sea salt. Miss Black and Mrs Malfoy watched him closely as he chewed and swallowed. He didn’t feel poisoned and the bread did taste delicious, but Remus couldn’t help thinking of the pomegranate seeds that bound Persephone to the depths of hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't describe how much I appreciate all the reads and kudos.


	5. Extracts from The Journal of R. A. B., 1982

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my wonderful beta avghoneybadger, paragon of beta readers. Special thanks to your-hannahbanana and generaltomatoheart for their invaluable advice.
> 
> I have also added around 1k of words to Chapter 3: Remus Lupin and the Absence of Breakfast. So that chapter now starts from Remus waking up in the werewolf complex, instead of jumping right to the health check-up.

April 5th, 1982

I believe Harry Potter is alive.

It sounds fantastic, I admit, and at the present I have no proof. I dare say even my brother, who is positively fervent about Pettigrew, believes that Potter’s son is dead. (For if he believed Harry to be alive, he would have announced it to the world, by yelling so at the top of his lungs while zooming about London on a magic carpet.)

There are presently two points for my case.

First point, they did not find a body. The clean-up crew found the charred bodies of Mr and Mrs Potter but they did not find a body of a one-year old.

Second point, there is no reason for the little Potter to be killed. 

There are four possibilities of how the Potters died. One, it was an accident, like most socialites said. Two, the Potters killed themselves. Three, someone had a personal grievance against them (gold, revenge, passion). Four, someone from the Business killed them.

Number One is impossible. The magical fire found at the cottage is not a household fire. There is no reason for that type of magical fire to be lit.

Number Two is unlikely. The elder Potters are, by most accounts, happy Hogwarts sweethearts who have little financial trouble.

Number Three is also improbable. In the event of all their deaths, the gold goes to St. Mungo’s and Hogwarts. As for revenge and passion, there is one candidate. However Snape would never harm a single red hair on Lily Potter’s head.

Which brings us to Number Four. The Potters are somehow involved in the Business (although an Auror trainee and a Charms apprentice are unlikely to be involved, check with Grandfather?) and they knew too much. In this situation, cleaners would be called. And since it is an impersonal situation, there is no need for the Potter boy to be killed. It would be more reasonable for the Business to transfer the child elsewhere, perhaps have him bitten by a werewolf to admit him to the wolves’ complex. More labor resources for the government. Although, I would not wish a child, let alone my brother’s godson, to such a fate.

April 10th, 1982

I have summoned my courage and told Grandfather about my theory. 

He told me I was catching the conspiracy flu from my brother. 

I must admit that I personally want the Potter boy to be alive, because I can think of no other reason that will make Sirius return from his exile.

May 7th, 1982

I have finished my apprenticeship with Master Nott at last! Three years of babysitting books and organizing records has concluded in a piece of parchment stating Regulus Arcturus Black is a qualified researcher. Master Nott was willing to recommend me for a post in the Department of Mysteries, but Grandfather is quite adamant that I learn the family business. As such, I am now an undersecretary to Grimsby, our sales manager. Grandfather does allow me to do freelance work from time to time however, and I have received a request from one of Narcissa’s friends for a report on elderwood use throughout history.

July 12th, 1982

Today has been a most singular day.

To start, I have received a letter from someone with the initials of T. M. R. at breakfast. Grandfather, upon seeing the initials, rudely grabbed it and shoved it into his pocket. He then called Kooky the elf for a bottle of firewhiskey. He ignored my protests that it was unhealthy to drink in the morning and poured himself a full glass.

Bella, who was uncharacteristically up in time for breakfast, asked him. “Is it you-know-who?”

“None of your business, girl,” was Grandfather’s polite reply, and after downing his glass, Arcturus Black exited the breakfast room as if he had not stolen my letter.

“What on earth was that about?” I asked my cousin.

Bella ignored me and rushed after Grandfather.

I then finished the rest of my toast in silence. I was a little upset by Grandfather stealing my letter, but I assumed he must have a good reason for it.

When the sun nearly reached its zenith, I heard Grandfather and Bella arguing in the library. I could hear snatches of the conversation through the door, as the anti-eavesdropping charm on the wood had been worn down by generations of curious children.

“... when will you ...”   
“... do not presume to tell me what to do …”

“... you never let me see him …”

“... for everyone’s safety …”

That was all I managed to hear, but it does make for a very curious story indeed.

Lunch was quiet: Bella seething from some slight, Grandfather brooding much like Sirius did (or was it Sirius who copied him?), and I dared not speak anything.

When we all cleared our plates, Bella made a movement as if to speak but Grandfather silenced her with a raised hand.

“I will tell him when the time is right.” He said.

I gathered my courage to ask him. “When the time is right? This T.M.R. person, who is he?”

“Someone you need not concern yourself with at the present. I apologize for taking your mail, Regulus, but even the Ancient Romans do not allow their children to arrange business deals until they are twenty-five.”

I protested of course, that we were hardly Ancient Romans, that I was an adult, and that I had the right to read my letters. However, Grandfather only made talk of the wholesale trade and how little Draco was already showing faint signs of magic. And Bella seemed content to pick at her tomatoes.

I hesitate to upset Grandfather and go against his wishes. He has been very good to me (and Sirius, the scoundrel) ever since we were young, but it is hardly fair for him to snatch away my correspondence like this. 

August 21st, 1982

Cissy has given me some crumbs of information at last! She tells me that it is not a family secret, but I should still avoid asking any outside the family about it. She promises me that she will convince Grandfather to tell me all about it at a date earlier than 1986. 

To be truthful, it is not much, but it is better than the complete ignorance I have had a month ago.

August 17th, 1982

I have managed to track down Pettigrew’s mother. She is a homely-looking woman with an anxious manner who proved to be particularly helpful after I showed her a bag of galleons. Pettigrew’s father apparently died in an apparition accident when Pettigrew was fifteen, so I shall have no opportunity to question him unless I find the Resurrection Stone (which is about as likely as the Potter boy being dead).

Mrs Pettigrew was only able to give a handful of interesting facts in her rambling monologue about Pettigrew Junior. She confirmed that her son had always been close to the Potters, and she was unable to express how angry she was that Sirius dared to accuse her son of anything dishonorable.

In Mrs Pettigrew’s words, Peter Pettigrew was ‘a modest, bashful boy who made his mother proud by getting such an important ministry post.” However, I was well aware that Pettigrew Junior had been an unimportant paper pusher in the Department of Magical Sports and Games. There is definitely something fishy going on.

After two successive bottles of gillywater, Mrs Pettigrew smugly told me that Pettigrew Junior had actually worked in the Department of Magical Clandestine Operations.

Sadly, our interview was then interrupted when my boss Grimsby burst into Mrs Pettigrew’s cottage, obliviated her of the meeting, and dragged me by my ear back to Black Manor.

“Mister Black.” Grimsby had always been a polite person, I think being fostered with Arcturus Black had that effect on someone. “Your grandfather is very displeased with your behaviour.”

Grandfather was indeed displeased. He did not raise his voice, but he came very close to it. “Let sleeping dogs lie.” He said, his left eye twitching with rage. “Or you too shall lie in a Potter’s field. I am not threatening you, Regulus, I am simply informing you of what will happen if you continue with this childish mission.”

“But Sirius --”

“Sirius must make his own choices.”

And Grandfather thought that was the end of the discussion.

Well, I do not want to argue with him but I will continue my investigation. Discreetly.

Severus Snape would be an interesting interviewee.

September 20th, 1982

It is strange (and strangeness is becoming commonplace in this investigation) but the owls that I send to Severus always return back with the letter unopened and I have been sending over for five months. The man should have grown tired of these owls after a time and eventually wrote me a letter requesting to stop (that was the plan), but he has failed to do so. I am going to purchase a copier quill to do his letters, my hand is getting cramped but I shall not give up.

September 27th, 1982

Lucius has kindly informed me that Severus Snape cannot be contacted at all due to the secretive nature of his work. He tells me that he will not inform Grandfather of my doings if I would babysit Draco on the Malfoys’ wedding anniversary and discreetly ask Narcissa which she preferred for a vacation: the North Pole or the South Pole.

“Why, are you taking her on a date there?” I asked. I know Narcissa is fond of the colder climates, probably something to do with how she doesn’t tan.

“Yes, I’m hoping to surprise her,” was my cousin-in-law’s reply.

“I heard the North has penguins and the South has polar bears, or is the other way around? (Grimsby just informed me that it is indeed the other way around.) I’ll ask her which one she likes.”

Lucius looked confused. “I don’t think Mars has penguins or polar bears.”

“What does Mars have to do with our conversation?”

“Well, I’m taking her there for our anniversary, but I’m not sure if we should visit the North Pole or the South Pole. I was actually hoping to take her to the Moon, but someone warned me that the muggles might loiter about there. Same with Venus. Do you think I should ask the restaurant for dancing penguins or singing polar bears as a special show?”

Sometimes, I wonder if my life would be easier if I married a Malfoy. Perhaps Lucius would be open to having me as a mistress? Cissy wouldn’t mind surely.

October 13th, 1982

To be honest, I am a bit surprised that the Business has been kept secret from the general magical public for so long, but then I suppose magical populations have always been disconnected from each other. Grandfather gave an estimate that the Old Families began the Business around the 50s; when I asked how it started, he refused to give me an answer. This seems to be a habit lately.

As far as I know, our distant cousin Blackwood is supposed to be handling the Underworld side of things for Black Enterprises. I have asked Grandfather when I would be transferred to that particular branch, to which he replied when I was at least thirty or if Sirius returned, when I was at least forty.

It is becoming almost ridiculous.

But I am not entirely ignorant, I am quite sure that Blackwood has a hand in muggle narcotics (since magical narcotics have never been regulated, let alone banned) and some other semi-legal businesses (perhaps illegal loans or magical services for muggles who knew how to keep their mouths shut). The Blacks would not be as rich otherwise, looking at our ledgers have taught me that.

Gold had been disappearing from our coffers at an astonishing rate since the Statute of Secrecy, I hypothesize that it has to do with the lack of muggle patrons. Around the time Great-Grandfather Sirius died, Grandfather had to invest in muggle businesses to stop our descent into the middle class.

Was this the secret that Grandfather, Bella, and Cissy are keeping from me? That we were gradually becoming the Weasleys? Rather unlikely, since Grimsby handed me the old dusty ledgers without much thought.

Perhaps Grandfather thinks it is an ugly secret that we had to turn to muggle businesses to keep our gold, but all the Old Families are doing it, especially the Malfoys who had plenty of muggle securities only a hundred years after the Statute of Secrecy.

Who is this T.M.R. and why is Grandfather so afraid of him contacting me? Was he Grandfather’s blackmailer? His old lover? Perhaps it is time to examine the Hogwarts Graduates Yearbooks.

November 31st, 1982

I have just been rudely exiled to France with one of Narcissa’s Rosier cousins.

Grandfather found out about the Hogwarts yearbooks and has placed a ward on the library. It is most inconvenient.

Grimsby was unhappy to see me go, but he assured me that Monsieur Mullins-Rosier would be a good boss and I would have a happy time helping with the French wine imports-exports.

I dared not tell him that I would never truly be happy until I can solve the damned Potter mystery and learn who this T.M.R. is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have made a Tumblr blog for this fanfic where I will be posting some doodles/artwork, updates, and ideas.  
> So, if you like Reformation, check out https://www.tumblr.com/blog/reformationfanfic.


	6. Win-gar-dium Levi-o-sa

“And who is this T.M.R.?” Sirius asked Grandfather.

“Why should I tell you  _ that _ ?”

“To rescue Reggie from wherever the hell he is!”

Grandfather stood up and walked to the window. “You know how I detest profanity,” was his reply.

“If you are concerned about my maturity, I am twenty-eight. I can do business transactions by Ancient Roman rules.”

“I am aware.”

“Then?”

“I --” Grandfather paused in his speech and turned to look at him. “I will tell you once you manage to open Regulus’ 1983 journal. I understand it requires some type of passkey.”

“You shouldn’t delay the inevitable.”

“Do not presume to tell me what to do with my own grandson.”

“I  _ am _ the grandson in question.”

“Precisely.”

“That does not make sense!”

“Sirius,” Grandfather sighed. “Go to bed. Tomorrow you will be meeting your new research assistant.”

“Did you really rescue a werewolf so I can have a secretary?”

“Go to bed.”

Sirius grudgingly walked out of the study, his feet dragging on the plush carpet. 

It took him three wrong turns to get out of the West Wing. Despite having lived in Black Manor for a decade, Sirius was seldom allowed in the West Wing without permission since it was the headquarters of Black Enterprises.

As far as he knew, the first floor had a conclave hall used as a meeting room and antique drawing rooms as offices for trusted advisers. It was an unspoken rule that the advisers used other offices for contacting underlings. No one without Black blood or an oath of fealty were allowed inside the Manor.

The second floor had spare bedrooms for guests, advisers, and associates but Sirius was a tad more familiar with it since it also housed the library and Grandfather’s study. The entire West Wing was high-ceilinged and decorated in the neoclassical style, with plenty of marble statues depicting scenes from Greek and Roman mythology and decorations painted from a monotone palette.

The East Wing, on the other hand, was undeniably Baroque. The furniture was ridiculously ornate, everything was gilded, the colors were awfully bright, and there were a great deal too many arches for Sirius’ taste.

Unfortunately, it was also where the ‘home’ in the Black home-office was.

Kooky the elf had arranged for Sirius to have his old room: a large chamber with an emperor-sized bed, an antique writing desk that is probably from the twelfth century, gilded portraits of horses with permanent sticking charms on them, and a big fucking crystal chandelier over where he slept. A chandelier! What use did he have for a chandelier?

Sirius missed his old dingy flat.

The second-hand couch, the peeling wallpaper, the dim lighting, the empty spaces where more furniture should be. That should be his home, a place where he was sure of himself, a place that didn’t remind him of anything other than to eat, sleep, and go to the bathroom. This, this room with its luxurious necessities and silk and gold was never truly his. Grandfather never allowed Sirius to decorate his own room. 

As if to prove his overbearingness, as soon as Sirius stepped foot into the chamber, Kooky materialized and announced that a bath had been prepared according to Master Arcturus’ orders. Sirius made a good show of grumbling and walked to the ensuite.

The bathroom smelled like a florist shop by the sea. Freesia and jasmine kissed his nose as Sirius stripped off his clothes and banished them into a self-emptying laundry basket. Alright, he thought, climbing into the bathtub. Living like this did have some perks. Sirius rested his head on the porcelain edge, letting his body float up among the bubbles while his mind dwelled upon Regulus’ diary.

Sirius knew about what Regulus called the ‘Business’. When he was fifteen and especially fond of snooping around Grandfather’s study, he had come across letters stating incredible sales for ‘herbal medicine’ and ‘consulting services’. He then asked Grimsby, Grandfather’s faithful lapdog, about it, and Grimsby told him that Grandfather had an interest in ‘muggle pharmaceuticals’. That, some other clues, and the fact that a month later Bellatrix was found giggling even more hysterically than usual on the house’s rooftop, shrieking about flying wamzeebootles and blue hopperdings, made Sirius conclude that Grandfather had an interest in muggle narcotics.

The next time he saw James and Peter, he told them all about it: how the Blacks and the other Old Families were actually criminal masterminds in the muggle world. Pettigrew looked like he half-believed Sirius, until James burst out laughing and told him how ridiculous it all was.

“All the old purebloods hate muggles, Sirius.” His best friend said after trying not to choke on his own saliva. “They are astonishingly ignorant of the non-magical -- I don’t think most of them even know what an airplane  _ is _ . Do you really expect me to believe they’re willing to ‘dirty themselves’ with muggle business?”

Sirius tried to convince his friends several times after that, but James always thought it was just a hilarious gag and Pettigrew followed James in everything. When Cissy heard about Sirius ‘snitching’, she told Grandfather about it. Fucking Narcissa.

Grandfather was predictably not pleased. Sirius had to swear a blood oath for his trouble, and now he could not even speak the words ‘cocaine’ and ‘Arcturus Black’ in the same sentence unless Grandfather explicitly permitted him to. After that Sirius tried to comfort himself with the thought that one day the old codger would die and Sirius would become paterfamilias.  _ Then _ he could put a stop to all this narcotics business (and change that awful Baroque decor.)

He did not know about the loan-sharking and magical services for muggles, though. Sirius wondered how the Black family was as rich as it pretended to be, if they had to resort to criminal businesses. In fact, he started to wonder about the wealth of the Old Families, who seemed to all have a hand in the muggle underworld. The Old Families (formerly called the Purebloods until money tasted sweeter than blood) had a hand in helping their non-magical friends do their business. The Parkinsons helped create designer brand knock-offs, the Greengrasses loved plants of all kinds, and the Blacks -- well, the Blacks had a small slice of every big business pie.

One thing he  _ was _ sure about was James and Lily had nothing to do with the Business. Both were straight-laced citizens who took the law seriously, and James’ parents had always kept their nose clean. Regulus was right, if the Potters were cleaned up, it was because they had seen and heard too much.

He still couldn’t believe Regulus actually thought Harry was alive. When Regulus wrote it all out in his journal, Harry being alive  _ did _ have some sense to it.

Sirius shuddered as he thought of what conditions little Harry must be in. Not knowing who his parents were, he expected. Probably being used as a house-elf in some strange house in the middle of nowhere.

Maybe Regulus disappearing had something to do with the Potters. Maybe Reggie knew too much, and someone made him vanish. But Grandfather seemed certain he was alive. Or was Reggie’s disappearance related to T.M.R.? Sirius had never heard those initials before.

And why was Grandfather so insistent that Regulus’ disappearance not be reported to the Ministry? The Old Families  _ ran _ the Ministry. Was Grandfather keeping something secret from his associates?

There was only one thing left, Sirius thought as he clambered out of the tub. He had to decode Regulus’ 1983 journal and learn what his little brother got himself into.

-

Remus tiptoed down the second floor hallway, mindful not to wake any sleeping portraits. Last night he got yelled at by a Mrs Ursula Black for daring to disturb the peace at three in the morning. Well, it was four AM today, but he imagined Mrs Black wouldn’t be any happier.

Fortunately, Remus’ guest bedroom was only five doors away from the library, and today he managed to sneak through the doors before some Black matriarch started yelling at him. 

After Remus had signed the work contract, Mrs Malfoy told him to stay on the second floor unless called for. She gave him bronze dog tags that would let him use certain facilities in the meanwhile. Remus spent most of his mornings boxing the moving mannequins in the exercise room and the rest of the day in the library. He saw little of the family’s other employees, since meals were delivered in his rooms and the other inhabitants of the second floor did not seem to be social people.

It had been nine days since he had first taken bread and salt from the Blacks, and Remus had spent six of those trying to cast spells and researching life-debt magic. Sadly, all the books agreed that beginners needed a wand to cast even the most basic spells and none of them spoke about the latter topic. Remus was rather sure Mrs Malfoy would never give werewolves wands, and she would rather cut off her pinky than tell him the loopholes of his ‘fealty’. He had little hope that his eventual boss, Mr Black, would be more lenient and less shrewd.

Remus imagined Mr Black to be an anaemic wizard with a top hat and a monocle in his eye, an intimidating, sadistic man who was a cross between Miss Black and Mrs Malfoy. He’d heard of Mr Regulus Black’s disappearance from Mrs Malfoy, and Remus was almost certain that he was going to be involved in the most terrible secrets known to man. Maybe Mr Black would use him to interrogate suspects on the full moon or perhaps to read cursed books that will make his eyes burn and his lips vaporize. There were many ways how a secretarial position could go wrong, and Mrs Malfoy never did fully say what he was expected to do as an assistant to Mr Black.

Part of why Remus couldn’t sleep was because after a week of waiting, he would finally meet his boss the coming morning. His fate was going to depend on this man’s disposition and temper, and that is decidedly not a happy thought. 

He should occupy his mind with other matters, Remus thought firmly, matters that were in his control. He opened ‘The Standard Book of Spells, Grade One’ and picked up a quill on a nearby table to begin practicing.

“Wingardium leviosa!” Remus swished and flicked his quill at the book. It refused to float. How typical. He tried again, making the flick more pronounced this time. “Wingardium leviosa!”

“You’re doing it wrong.”

The werewolf jumped.

A shadow of a man emerged from the next row of bookshelves. “It’s wing- _ gar _ -dium levi- _ o _ -sa, you gotta make the ‘gar’ nice and long.”

“Oh.” Remus said intelligently.

“And you shouldn’t be practicing with a book.” The man walked towards him, and the lamps’ dim lights illuminated his dark wavy hair. The stranger looked like a Roman statue come alive or perhaps a descendant of a transylvanian count. “You should be levitating that quill you’re holding instead. Where’s your wand? Why are you practicing the levitation spell? Are you a squib?”

“I’m a werewolf.” Remus said, tightly gripping his quill.

The stranger blinked and cocked his head to the side. “You don’t happen to be Remus Lupin, do you?”

“My name is Lupin, yes.”

“Ah! I’m Sirius, supposed to meet you tomorrow -- I mean, today. You can call me Sirius.” Mr Black held out his hand.

Remus shook it, eyeing Mr Black’s other hand. The man’s wand was not visible. So, this was the elusive Mr Black, he looked a lot younger than Remus and he positively  _ reeked _ of motor oil. This was the cousin of Miss Black and Mrs Malfoy? A kid who looked like he barely got out of school? Granted, a kid who looked like he had suffered several sleepless nights and had seen the plumbing systems of hell, but he looked so terribly young.

Mr Black gestured for Remus to walk with him to the windows. 

“Sorry for not meeting you before, I had some stuff to clean up with my old job. Cissy told you about the details?”

Remus nodded and recited dutifully. “Mr Regulus Black disappeared six months ago and I will be helping Mr Sirius Black decode Mr Regulus’ journals to find clues.” He paused. “Mrs Malfoy also gave me a copy of the 1982 journal to read two days ago.”

“Did Mrs Malfoy explain what I want you to do for me?”

“I don’t know anything other than I’m supposed to be a secretary.”

“Not really a secretary, more like a research assistant. My brother kept many journals like the 1982 one, and the rest of them are still locked. Our main goal is, of course, to find Regulus, and to do that we have to understand why he disappeared. So, we’ll be retracing Regulus’ footsteps, finding out what he found out, reading his books and journals. 

“That’s where you come in. Your main task will be reading the books aloud to me. You see, I read things very slowly. The letters get jumbled in my brain or something. If it’s a big font, I have less problems with that, but Regulus’ books are all in tiny letters.”

“And that’s it?” 

“One of your jobs will also be keeping your mouth shut.” Mr Black frowned. “Lupin, you have to understand that this isn’t an ordinary disappearance. Regulus might be entangled with something sinister. But our main priority right now will be unlocking this.”

Mr Black pulled out a book from his robes and handed it to Remus. He examined the cover. A child’s hangman game was drawn underneath the title,  _ The Journal of R.A.B. 1983 _ . There were eight blanks next to the swaying stickman, and a list of words underneath:

_ TMRiddle _

_ remember _

_ password _

_ Hogwarts _

_ Kreacher _

_ (penalty) _

_ (penalty) _

_ (penalty) _

_ (penalty) _

_ (penalty) _

_ (penalty) _

_ (penalty) _

“Regulus made it so that you can only guess complete words, not letters.” Mr Black explained.

Remus pointed to the ‘penalties’. “What are those?”

“Last week, my cousin tried to burn the thing in frustration. Mr Hangman sprouted a torso, four limbs, and two eyes in one day, all thanks to dear Bella. We don’t know what will happen if we guess wrong again, it might self-destruct or we might still have another chance. He’s only missing a mouth and a nose, but perhaps my brother prefers noseless figures.”

“So, you’re looking for an eight-letter word to open this book?” The hangman looked like it was staring at him.  _ No, don’t be childish, Remus. It’s just a drawing. The creepy stick figure isn’t staring at me. Avert your eyes, Lupin! _

“Yep, and I think the eight-letter word is in one of Regulus’ books, maybe something related to the Potters or some strange topic he likes.”

The hangman continued to sway on his rope, staring at Remus. A small voice in his brain told him he should write in the blanks. Write something, write anything. Write. Why won’t he write? Write. Don’t be silly, have a guess. Write--

Remus shook his head and handed the journal back to Mr Black. In his opinion, Regulus Black was a very, very creepy person.

Mr Black thanked him and placed his journal inside his robes again. They continued their walk towards the windows and stopped in front of a wooden table.

Two stacks of books sat on the table’s surface, one stack looked like duplicates of the ‘83 journal and the other had varying thicknesses and covers. There was leather, card, cloth, and --

Remus froze. “That looks like human skin.”

“It is human skin.” Mr Black said, grimacing. “My brother’s taste in books is -- well, ‘disturbing’ would be an understatement. I’ll transfigure you a set of gloves so you don’t have to touch the damn thing.”

Remus Lupin certainly did not expect to find himself gloved and holding a book covered in human-skin, reading aloud about immortality to his boss at five in the morning, but then considering the trajectory of his life, he should have. Mr Black asked him to read the dog-eared horcrux section and write down every interesting eight-letter word. Remus actually found the job quite interesting and calming. He had never read volumes on such wild uses of magic before and he would have forgotten Mr Black was in the room if the man did not mutter to himself. 

At half past five he was reading how to use the corpse of a foetus to create a wardstone in  _ Interesting Blood Wards _ . Mr Black was kind enough to help him read the more academic terms, provided that Remus wrote them out in large letters on his notepaper. Remus noted down ‘treasure’, ‘strength’, ‘kindness’, ‘memories’, and a great many other words.

At six sharp Remus listed the members of the Potter family in  _ Nature’s Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy _ and recorded names with eight letters in them. This book was much less interesting than  _ Magick Moste Evile _ , and he felt his eyelids fluttering as he read.

“Damara Goodcauldron.” He droned. Damara was six letters, skip. “Aryll Potter. Fabius Potter. Diantha Chesperwick. Hardwin Potter. Iolanthe Peverell.” He stopped, Peverell was eight letters. 

“Peverell,” Mr Black muttered quietly. “Pe-ve-rell, sounds familiar.”

Remus continued. “Linfred of Stinchcombe, and that’s the top of the tree.”

“Thank you, Lupin. Do you want to call for breakfast? Yes? Great, I’m also feeling hungry -- Kooky!”

Kooky the house-elf appeared. “Breakfast, sir?”

“Full English for two, I think.”

The elf popped away and Mr Black turned towards Remus. “Did your parents tell you about the Tale of the Three Brothers when you were a kid?”

He shook his head.

“Well, we might as well have a break. You see, I thought the name Peverell was familiar, and I just remembered why it was. Some people think Beedle based  _ The Tale of the Three Brothers _ on some Peverell brothers.”

Kooky popped into the library with two large plates of eggs, sausages, and other mouthwatering foods but Mr Black took no notice. He stared straight at Remus, but the werewolf had the impression that Mr Black wasn’t really talking to him.

“ _ The Tale _ goes like this: three brothers try to cross a river using magic, they succeed. Death, the person not the concept, meets them on the other side. He’s angry they didn’t drown but he owes them gifts as part of some old custom. The eldest brother gets an unbeatable wand, the second gets a stone that resurrects people, and the youngest gets an invisibility cloak. The eldest gets his throat slit because some thief wanted his wand, the second eldest kills himself after realizing the stone doesn’t truly bring people back, and the youngest survives under the cloak until he decides to die.”

A fairy tale? “And you think this has something to do with the Potters?”

Mr Black began to pace. “If Iolanthe Peverell married into the Potters -- if she became a Potter -- if the Potters had her as an ancestor -- if James had a Peverell brother as an ancestor -- if -- if -- but that would mean --”

He threw himself into the chair and put his head down to his knees, muttering to himself.

“I can’t believe it -- seven years prowling around Hogwarts under Peverell’s cloak. Dear Morgana, I just -- sorry, Lupin. It’s just the Potters have the Invisibility Cloak, the best of all invisibility cloaks, a gift from Death. It’s a valuable artifact -- something someone might kill for. But, it  _ still _ doesn’t make sense. Did Pettigrew sell the information to someone? Why did they have to kill the Potters since they could just steal it. Does this mean Harry has a better chance of being alive?” Mr Black wringed his hands. “I should tell Grandfather right away.”

His boss shot off like Greyback after a human child, leaving Remus behind in the library with two plates full of breakfast. Remus shrugged and dug in. Mr Black was a bit nicer than he’d assumed, even if the man was rather excitable and had a short attention span. This little mystery about Mr Regulus Black was rather interesting, although Remus couldn’t really wrap his head around it. Mysterious disappearances? Invisibility cloaks? Betrayals? This, if nothing else, would make for an interesting job.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always enjoy writing Sirius and Arcturus bickering, their conversation practically writes itself.  
> Remus and Sirius' first meeting was a bit harder to pull off, I ended up rewriting that scene five different times (Remus was too meek, Remus was too aggressive, Sirius was too formal, etc.) So, right now, Sirius thinks Remus is an interesting PA his grandfather sent him but Sirius is more focused on the mystery while Remus (who is still in a bit of shock over the werewolf genocide) thinks Sirius is a nice eccentric boss who's in a conspiracy or something. I don't think this is one of my best chapters, Remus and Sirius are a bit too stiff. In later chapters, Sirius would start talking casually with Remus (aka complain about his family) and their friendship would start to develop.  
> What do you think about this chapter? Take a guess what the password is!


	7. How Tom Riddle Saved The World

“— and someone killed the Potters for the Invisibility Cloak of Death.” Sirius finished triumphantly.

Grandfather looked up from his croissant. “You interrupted my breakfast to say the Potters were killed for an _invisibility_ _cloak_?”

“ _The_ Invisibility Cloak. There’s a difference, maybe it has better powers than a common five-knut-a-sheet invisibility cloak. Since it’s Death’s gift, maybe it makes you immortal or something -- in the tale, the youngest brother hid from Death in a cloak!”

Grandfather scoffed. “Invisibility cloaks are hardly five knuts per sheet and there is no proof that this one makes one immortal. There are only two facts: the last of the Peverells married into the Potters and the Potters have an invisibility cloak. The rest are speculations.”

“Maybe if you tell me about T.M.R., I’ll know why The Cloak is important.” Sirius challenged.

“Your attempts at manipulation are laughable. T.M.R. hardly has anything to do with The Cloak, and that is a fact.”

“Peverell has eight letters in it, that is _also_ a fact.”

“A lucky coincidence.” Grandfather said dismissively. “Death’s gift or not, no powerful person will kill for an _invisibility cloak_. If you were truly powerful, you would not need to rely on magic for concealment.”

“So this T.M.R. is a powerful person, then?”

“Perhaps.” Grandfather shrugged, and fixed his gaze to the wallpaper behind Sirius.

“I still think ‘Peverell’ is the password.” 

“Sirius, we’re not going to solve it _today_.”

“It’s been six months and a half since Reggie disappeared!”

“And a week will make no difference. We should be cautious, there is no telling how many wrong guesses the journal allows.”

“Grandfather, Reggie could be lying near dead in a ditch somewhere and we’re losing time arguing.” Sirius stood up and left Arcturus Black to his dainty pastries and his Merlin-be-damned cautiousness. He had had enough of waiting around, Sirius _knew_ Peverell was the password. It was too much of a coincidence: the Potters, an important magical artifact, and the perfect amount of eight letters. If ‘Peverell’ wasn’t the password, he didn’t know what was. Merlin damn Regulus for inventing such a difficult puzzle!

Sirius opened the library doors and walked past the bookshelves to his working table. Lupin had finished his breakfast and was now opening every window in the library. He jumped when he spotted Sirius. 

“It feels a bit stifling in here.” Lupin explained sheepishly.

“Where’s the journal?” Grandfather, or more likely Grimsby the faithful lap dog, could burst in any moment to stop him. Sirius needed to be quick.

Lupin slid the leatherbound book over. “Do you want me to call the elves? You look like you haven’t eaten yet —“

“Do you have a quill?” He had to hurry, he had to do something. Sirius was sick of all this lying around, talking and theorizing, and never actually _doing_ anything.

“Yes, hmm…” Lupin looked into his robes. “Here it is. Wait, are you going to write in it already?”

“Yes.”

“Isn’t that a bit too soon?”

Sirius ignored his assistant. “How do you spell ‘Peverell’?”

“Mr Black, are you sure you want to try decoding today?”

“Lupin,” Sirius spoke in his most authoritative voice, which sounded somewhat like Cissy’s. “How do you spell ‘Peverell’?”

“Mr Black, sir, I just think you’re making a rash decision—”

“Lupin, you have a life debt!” Sirius snapped.“You have fealty to me, which means you need to tell me — right now — how to spell ‘Peverell’.”

“It’s P-E-V-E-R-E-L-L.” Lupin said with a touch of stiffness. 

Gripping the quill tightly, Sirius wrote down ‘Peverell’ in careful letters on the journal cover. Once he lifted the quill, the letters began to disappear and the book began to shudder.

“That didn’t happen with the ones before,” Sirius exclaimed in delight, and held the book closer, peering at the hangman. Any moment now. 

A smile grew on the hangman’s face.

Regulus’ journal burst into flames.

\--

“I hope that at least you apologized to poor Lupin.” Grandfather admonished. “Treating your staff like that -- one does not yell at people, Sirius.”

“I’m sorry. I still can’t believe it wasn’t ‘Peverell’. It was so _fitting_ —“

“To you, perhaps, but not to Regulus. I did warn you not to be rash.”

Sirius rubbed his formerly burnt nose, now healed by Grimsby. “I’m --”

Arcturus Black raised an eyebrow. “Sorry?”

Sirius hunched his back forward so that his chin rested on the Grandfather’s desk and closed his eyes. “What are we going to do? No one has any idea how to open the ‘84 journal. Right now Regulus’ diaries are as useless as toilet paper in a magical household. What are we going to _do_?”

“We have to be patient. _You_ have to learn to be patient. It may have taken us five months to open the 1982 notebook, but we opened it successfully.” Grandfather tapped a finger against the polished mahogany thoughtfully. “I think you shouldn’t work with Regulus’ books any longer.”

“I’ve been at the job for only two weeks and you’re kicking me out?” Sirius snapped back into a straight-backed posture. “You can’t do that! I’m looking after those silver sales for you. It’s just one mistake -- you can’t send me back to fixing motorcycles!”

“I’m happy to hear your love for import-export accounts. Calm down, I’m not taking you out of the investigation. I meant I will give you a different task.”

“What task?”

“A more hands-on operation, one more suited to your nature. However, it will require you to be knowledgeable about certain things you are presently ignorant of.”

Sirius stared at Grandfather. “Are you talking about your cocaine trade?”

“Indirectly. Perhaps it is a good thing you are aware of our unusual interests.”

“Import-export monopolies for magical communities, narcotics, magical services for muggles, and money laundering.”

“I am glad to see you so well-informed.” Arcturus Black said drily. “Well, Sirius, have you ever wondered how we started our family company?”

“I know you started it.”

“Yes. I, Arcturus Black, previously a firm believer in blood purity, now shaking hands with muggle businessmen in secret, does it not strike you as a little strange?”  
“Did we run out of gold?” Sirius snarked. That wouldn’t be too unbelievable with the designer stuff Grandfather and Regulus bought each month. At least Bellatrix practiced the thrift, but only because she was too lazy to go shopping.

“Most of our coffers were empty by the time I went to Hogwarts, but no, that is not the chief reason. Sirius, do you love Regulus?”

“How could you ask me that! Of course I do, he’s my baby brother!”

“Then I want you to keep his wellbeing in mind when I speak next. If you do anything with the information I give you -- something rash like opening that journal or talking to other people outside the family -- without informing me, it will be he who suffers the consequences of your actions.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I believe Regulus is vulnerable at the moment, but alive. So, understand that you acting blindly might lead to his death.”

“You speak like he’s imprisoned somewhere.”  
Grandfather shrugged. “I have my theories. Regardless, you, Sirius Orion Black, will not leave the Black Country Estate unless I give my permission, in exchange for being told of the identity of T.M.R.. Do you accept?”

“I accept.” Cold invisible shackles snapped around his wrists and bit into veins. Sirius shook his hands and the oath sank into his skin. Magic was a little terrifying sometimes.

“Good.” Grandfather steepled his hands together. “It is quite a long and convoluted tale to tell but you must be patient.

“Let us assume the mind of the average mage who regard themselves as humans and muggles as clever monkeys, who are unequal to us in technology and ability. Up until the 17th century, the humans and the monkeys coexisted together, not always peacefully but civilly enough that neither of them died out. The average human did not fear a monkey: he had the flame-freezing charm, he knew how to apparate, and if worse came to worst, he had wandless magic. No sword, no arrow, no bullet, no gunpowder can affect a strongly cast shield charm. The human believes himself safe and superior.

“There was danger in mobs of monkeys of course, and once the monkeys began to realize that humans existed, they began to throw rocks at them. Getting stoned by a mob of monkeys is rather annoying and possibly fatal, so the humans went into hiding and the Statute of Secrecy was erected.

“Centuries passed by and the clever monkeys began developing their own technology. The humans were not unaware of this: they knew of the steam engine, they knew of cars. Some humans thought the monkeys were adorable, having their own culture and technology. Others hated the monkeys for pushing them into hiding. Both agreed that monkeys were defenseless against humans. At this point in time, they were quite correct.

“Then World War II happened. The first years did not bring much change, the humans noted the London Blitz behind their wards, but they were too busy trying to stop a certain megalomaniac. They paid the monkeys no attention; they did not know about the Manhattan Project; they had never heard of the term ‘nuclear bomb’.

“Hiroshima and Nagasaki were hit, and magic could not protect against nuclear explosives. Fortunately, there were only a handful of mages living in those cities, since most Japanese mages lived in magical-only villages. Their deaths were attributed to malfunctioning wards, no witch or wizard thought the wards were incapable of defending against nuclear weapons. After all, wards could defend against arrows, bullets, and the general explosives. Magic triumphed over muggle technology, and there was no reason for that to change.

“When one of my contacts told me that the Hiroshima house wards were in perfect condition before they were attacked, I did not believe him. He had to repeat his report under veritaserum twice before I accepted there were weapons magic could not defend against. It is a crippling thought, Sirius, to know that you are defenseless. I spent days reflecting on the subject, thinking that muggles might kill us by accident or some idiot mage would steal a nuclear bomb and accidentally detonate it.”

Sirius protested. “But there must be some type of ward that can defend against them!” He had studied chemistry with his tutor enough to know how a nuclear bomb works, but he had always assumed that a strong ward could protect against the blast from an atomic weapon. 

“To this day, there is no defense against an atomic bomb, magical or non-magical.” Grandfather said gravely. “This is of course, a problem. When the formerly harmless monkeys now control weapons of great destruction, there would be a general uproar among the humans. Some power-hungry idiot would scream for mages to kill those crazy destructive monkeys or to steal the nuclear weapons and use them on muggles. The only thing keeping us from war with muggles is our belief that we will certainly win against any non-magical attack. That, and the fact that we are incredibly lazy as a subspecies. If most witches and wizards knew why the Hiroshima and Nagasaki mages died, if they knew about the sudden shift in power, they would panic.”

“If they knew?”

Grandfather leaned back into his chair.

“You may think that the best kept secret on Earth is the concealment of the magical world from the muggle one, and you would be wrong. Millions of witches and wizards know that secret. No, the best kept secret on Earth -- one that only a select few know -- is the concealment of the muggle world from the magical one.

“Since 1945, a group of mages have been concealing the true extent of muggle technology from the general magical population. Because if this charade was not kept, if muggle studies textbooks were not hopelessly outdated, if muggle-magical relations were not limited; there would be a war.”

Sirius looked at his paterfamilias in wonder. “You’re talking of a worldwide conspiracy! A _worldwide_ conspiracy! How on earth is that possible? How did you get nations to cooperate?”

“Is the Statue of Secrecy not a worldwide conspiracy? As for implementation, we simply controlled the muggle studies textbooks, agreed to segregate the muggle and magical populations further, and tabooed muggle scientific terms. We had influential contacts in every magical population of interest to help force those policies. 

“The muggleborns were a problem, at least for our country. In Eastern Europe, they are virtually abandoned by magical society since Durmstrang only accepts half-bloods. However, we could not force such a policy on magical Britain, it would generate too much attention to the change in power. Instead we gave them compulsion spells in the form of technology phobia. I will not bore you with the intricacies of such magic, but let’s just say that by the time they graduate, they will never think of a television again, let alone mention it to someone.

“Is it not ironic that I, a pureblood, spend more time in the muggle world than muggleborns do? Only certain people are permitted to mingle with muggles, so you learning muggle science is quite a privilege, Sirius.

“The nature of mages also helped our little secret. People are quite incurious when they are well-fed and entertained. Witches and wizards live comfortable lives compared to their non-magical counterparts, and it would be very hard to find a mage in poverty. The average mage would not ask themselves whether magic can defend against nuclear weapons. Or if they did, they would not act upon it. Why pursue a course of inquiry suggesting muggle weapons are more effective than yours? We seek to satisfy our ego, not deplete it. There are of course other minor details about this cover-up, such as obliviates and influencing muggleborns, but that is the rough picture.”

Sirius put his elbows on the desk and rested his face on his hands. 

“Well, are you going to throw a tantrum?”

“It’s better than I thought.” Sirius answered. “I thought you’d say we’ve been secretly mind-controlling the muggle world.”

Arcturus Black stared blankly at his grandson.

Sirius narrowed his eyes and sat back up. “Grandfather,” He said slowly. “Have you been mind-controlling the muggles?”

“‘Control’ is such a vulgar term, I prefer ‘influence’. And it’s for a good reason, Sirius.”

“Explain. Quickly.”

Grandfather bristled slightly at his tone but made no comment. “Well the problem of nuclear weapons is not quite finished, we have managed to convince most mages that the bombs are relatively harmless but there were still the muggles to consider. Do you remember your history lessons? After World War Two finished, the muggle Americans and the muggle Soviets were hoarding nuclear bombs and threatening to destroy each other’s country.”

“But — what does that have to do with us? I thought the mages weren’t involved, were they?”

“Well, we had an interest in keeping the world intact, seeing as we live in it. And I suppose our involvement started with Tom Marvolo Riddle.”

“T.M.R..”

“Yes, T.M.R..” Grandfather nodded. “I’m glad to see you have brains. He was a schoolmate of your father’s, lived in a muggle London orphanage and spent his summers with the Blitz, so he was quite knowledgeable about these things. Riddle proposed that we should take an active interest in Cold War politics, in addition to keeping the mages ignorant. At first it was planting eavesdropping devices in muggle intelligence agencies, then it was confunding soldiers —“

“And it ended with imperiusing people.”

“Well, if we did not, the United States would have become a nuclear wasteland. I believe Avery Sr. still thinks his name is Vasily Arkhipov sometimes, with how much he delved into the Russian’s mind. The work we have done...” Grandfather shook his head. “If Arkhipov was not imperiused, would he have defied his betters’ orders and refused to attack the United States? No one knows, and I thank the gods that we never have to.

“After the Cuban Missile Crisis, we sent squads to dismantle nuclear weapon building equipment and to vanish important materials. We were not entirely successful — there are still caches and blueprints left, but we are safer now than we were forty years ago.”

“So we used to imperius people, but we don’t do it now?” Sirius asked hopefully.

“The Cold War isn’t over, child, and the infrastructure required to infiltrate the muggle government became more useful than for just disabling atomic bombs. We’ve been stopping muggles from making stupid decisions for around three decades now. Have you ever wondered why every squib in the Old Families has to read politics at muggle universities?”

Sirius blinked. “Well, I thought we like to meddle in muggle politics.”

“We do more than meddle. Every Prime Minister you know is quite suggestible to the opinions of the Old Families, as are some diplomats and politicians.”

There was it, the truth. The ugly truth of what his family was. A syndicate of criminals passing themselves off as respectable members of society. No human would believe Sirius if he told them the truth about the Blacks.

“I suppose you and your gang also control the wizarding government as well.”

“Child, we have always controlled the wizarding government,”

“I have lost faith in all of humanity.” Sirius declared. 

“Well, it was about time.”

“Give me one good reason why I should not tell all this to the muggles.”

“No muggle would believe you.”

Sirius’ left eye twitched. “The mages then.”

“Someone would stop you first.”

“You?”

“No, Riddle would send someone to silence you.”

“Riddle’s the ringleader of this farce, isn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“Have you considered that perhaps the world wouldn’t destroy itself if you let go of it?”

“Perhaps, but I like to make sure.”

“How many muggles are imperiused right now?”

“Two.”

Sirius blinked. “I thought you would have the entire House of Commons imperiused, or at least the cabinet.”

“Influencing someone full-time is a harder task than you think. Most of them are bribed.”

“Do they know they’re being bribed by mages?”

“No, they think we’re wealthy muggle tycoons, the usual bribers for any muggle government. Sirius, the muggle government will always be corrupt. It’s either us or some other wealthy corporate.”

“You’re just saying that to excuse your conduct.” Sirius snapped. “And how on earth is this connected to cocaine and money laundering?”

“Well, I prefer to keep our wealth and its source a secret. If Black Enterprises was known to every muggle, we’d be subject to their suspicion and discussion. Better to stay in the dark.”

“In the Black Market.” He tried not to giggle.

Grandfather looked unimpressed. “Yes, in the Black Market. Now, I would have preferred to read Regulus’ journal instead of having you gathering clues first hand. But since we do not have the journal...” He pinched his nose. “You’re going on a holiday to France to stay with the Mullins-Rosiers. You want a week or two of relaxation after your secret seven-year assignment. The Mullins-Rosiers will expect you to know all I have told you today and to fully support the cause. They will perhaps make small allusions to Riddle and our business practices. I do not want you to go there bumbling and unarmed. Your objective is to find out what Regulus did during 1983.”

“You think something happened in France?”

“I do, but I’m not sure what. We did not talk much after he left for the continent and when he returned in 1986, we didn’t talk much about serious matters.”

“When will I leave?” This was good news, Sirius was finally going to do something useful.

“A week from now -- no, do not argue. You need time to digest what you have learnt and to think your cover story over carefully. Remember, everyone outside the family thinks Regulus is also on holiday, so you must be discreet.”

Sirius nodded then paused. “What about Lupin? Are you going to give him a different assignment? Send him to Narcissa? You’re not going to send him to Blackwood, are you?” He asked in horror. “That bloke’s more like a grandmother than a wolf!”

“Lupin isn’t going to work with Blackwood. And considering your impulsive and childish behavior today, you cannot be trusted to go to France alone. I think...” Grandfather smiled. “You will need a babysitter.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sirius has a lot to digest in, hasn’t he? At first I thought the chapter would be easy to write, but it turns out I need to fine tune Sirius’ reactions a lot and I needed to make Arcturus’ story-telling easier to follow. Both Sirius and Arcturus enjoy bickering with each other, and it’s also one of my favorite parts to write! (My other favorite part to write is Bellatrix’s half-crack perspective on things.)  
> When writing Sirius, I usually listen to the Bulletproof Boys' Boy Meets Evil: the torment of the tainted soul, the firm belief in good and evil, and all that. For Bellatrix, it’s either IU’s Black Out or Jam Jam, a perfect blend of euphoric and psychotic for her. The others, I’m still thinking about. (I’d love to hear a song recommendation for Remus.)  
> Another note, Sirius isn’t a perfect character, his viewpoint is definitely skewed, so take his reasoning with a grain of salt. Potters + invisibility cloak + eight letters is not a reasonable link to make unless you’re in a rush. Sirius is rather intuitive though, some would say a little prophetic. Do you remember Ron’s predictions for Trelawney’s class? More Easter eggs to dispense!


End file.
